31 Poem by Charles Malcolm
31
As the rough edges become smoothed with time,
I find myself
more and more
in the floating dust.
My purpose revealed but my self disappears,
pausing only
to wink back
while drifting away.
Some kind of curse,
that I only see things as they leave me,
but I s'pose there are those
who can't even see.
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: age,life,love,time
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4/26/2024 4:00:34 AM # 1.0.0.1119
The poem sound so honest and humbly personal...thats what make this work stand for its amazingness..keep it up